you will leave a mark
by xoVanilla-Bean
Summary: The unopened doors lead the way home, if you'd care to look. – American Revo AU


a/n; /SOB SOB 14K.  
_necessary info_: so this is an American Revolution AU, in the background; for imagination's sake, I twisted some things around from history books - if, you know, anyone notices the allusions, or any of the other ones that are mixed around in here, too.  
_unnecessary info_: started in January when I was actually interested - found and finished six months later, so it's much different from original planning - really, there was no planning at all.

you will leave a mark;  
the unopened doors lead the way home, if you'd care to look.

* * *

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

That was their boat. That was their boat and it was on fire.

_Shit._

He leaves for a minute, rummaging through a man's smuggled goods as politely as the situation can permit, and then _this_ happens.

Well, the General had it coming. He yelled at the people way too much, caused a wicked number of illegal defacing of establishments, and waved his hand at Zack's protests, saying that was what the writs were for.

Zack lifted a brow and grimaced at that. The writs hadn't exactly been passed yet, but nobody here seemed to know, so far away from the homeland. And the soldiers didn't want to be here anymore than the people did, but that didn't mean they had the right to lie.

That was the thing about politics – all concealed truth.

The wind blew against his face and carried the stench of smoke. He dropped the goods and coughed, straining his eyes to look into the waters as he ran.

Not much evidence had been left by the perpetrators, but there was enough to guess what happened. They were still lifting up cloth, torches, and something that looked suspiciously like…

So here's the thing. Mako can be a lot like nitroglycerin. It's highly flammable, unstable, but if used at the right temperature, it becomes distilled. It can create a shitload of side-effects that can make you into a – the-hills-have-eyes-radioactive mutant.

Zack's pretty sure that's all introspective bullshit. Then again, no one's ever seen such a thing.

But add a pinch of salt and a dosage of heat, someone with a cause, and all that mako goes –

_Boom.

* * *

_

The worst thing about spontaneous rebelling was, after it was over, they almost always got away. They purposely inflicted harm and death, and they got away.

There were never any orders to pursue them, to find them, to smash them up against the walls. There were too many, and it would be a waste of time. The first few attempts were fruitless and resulted in arguments over vice-admiralty courting, and how it affected the peoples' newly found rights. No jury, no go.

The loopholes made him go cross-eyed, and he gave up on all the government terminology. He took out his frustrations on the roaming fiends when he could find them.

He still thought the General got what was coming for him. Karma, right? That's what the guy preached about all the time. But the screaming of burning flesh would not leave his mind. He still wished he could have pushed through the ocean faster, see better underneath the murky, dirty waters.

That was yesterday.

There were no funerals. This dirt spelled deathbeds.

Zack rubbed his bruised glove over his face, the sticks surrounding dismal and bent.

_Damn it. I'm sorry._

_I'm so sorry._

* * *

"Quartering? Well, damn." Kunsel scratched the back of his head, standing up from dismissal. Zack plunked up and stretched.

"It sure beats sleeping in this place."

"Ain't that the truth," Kunsel crossed his arms, and his eyebrows drooped. "But… would it sound weird to say that I feel like we'd be – intruding?"

Zack started getting restless. He hadn't gotten a lot of sleep in a while. He sank down in a squat and pondered.

"Probably at first," he puffed. "But doesn't it make sense? For them to take us in? Because we are still their army, too. And King Lazard is trying to fix the debt and maintain order from across the ocean, which has got to be giving him a pretty deep set of wrinkles." He grinned.

"You know how some of them will react to this, though." Kunsel's face juxtaposed Zack's. "They don't see it as helping the mother country. Some don't even see themselves being part of the mother country at all anymore." He shook his head. "They don't have financial problems here. It's almost as if the problems we have don't apply."

Zack finished his squats, stood tall, and mimicked Kunsel's stance. But there was a twinkle in his eye, and Kunsel already felt a bit better.

"You have way too many minutes of being off duty, Kunsel," he clapped his shoulder. "King Lazard's a crafty guy. How many droughts and bad times has he led our country through? This isn't anything different. We're all from the same parts, we're all connected in some way. People may never see it like that, or understand that we're doing this for the best interests of the country, but after the debts are gone and this episode is behind us, we'll leave and go back home." He smiled, and Kunsel felt a bout of suspicious relief.

Zack had that air about him. It was the influence he carried, acknowledged or not.

Either way, Kunsel was sure he could make you feel content about dying. Or killing. They were the unspeakable acts, the daily rituals the soldiers all avoided. But with Zack, he could say them, talk about them. He could conquer them. He could handle the relation of life and death, though not one person was certain if it was easy.

Oh. You killed a person? Well, that's okay. It was supposed to happen, so don't beat yourself up. Next time, it'll get better, alright? That's what we're here for, most of the time.

Receiving Zack's stamp of encouragement, you had a free-spirited border again. Kunsel knew him long enough to get used to it. His conscience knew him long enough to not believe him.

* * *

Zack walked up the porch of the house, giving the up-down and around, flattering the crude wood with his appreciative glancing. The columns supporting were spun with vines, awnings cradling the windows on the left and right. The door spoke volumes of _welcome_, and Zack was sure if he was in charge of the grouping papers, he would have left his name on this one.

A sparkle caught his eye. There were flowers growing around the corner. He hadn't seen domesticated flowers since trampling over his neighbor's garden, way back when. So as he set his pack down, curiously studying the area, he felt their comfort pass inside him. It was something nice, after a small ship massacre. He did a little hop over the halfway fence, seeing lilacs and possibly dandelions. He never was much of a flower name kind of guy – he'd much rather bask in their scents.

He heard a small ruffling then, leather boots on creaky wood.

"Who's there?"

She had a rusty rake in her hands, its ancient sprigs clashing with her youth. She had the poise of a lion, but the braid of a girl, and if Zack didn't know any better, he would've gone right up and pinched her cheeks.

"Zack Fair, my lady," he kneeled. "Are you the lovely Ms. Gainsborough?"

He expected a giggle and red rosy red plumes on her face, but all he got was a twinkle and suspicion.

"That depends. If you're a soldier, then keep calling me Ms," the rake in her hands shifted to the side. "If you're a neighborhood boy, call me Aerith."

He gave her the up-down around he gave the house. She wore an off-white cloud colored sundress; bubblegum pink spots doodled onto the hem and straps. It reminded him of chalky candy hearts, saying Kiss Me and Be Mine.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to keep calling you Ms, Aerith," he stood up and smiled.

"I thought so," her lips puckered. "Where's your fancy outfit? And your – weapons?"

He frowned at her defensive posture. "Out front. I meant to knock, but I saw all these flowers, so I thought – "

"Stop!" she shouted. "You'll step on them!" She rushed off the porch steps and shooed him off with the rake. She placed a delicate hand under the neck of a lilac or dandelion or orchid. She hardly seemed to care about his proximity, in the wake of flower hazard.

"Don't worry your pretty braid off. Nothing happened."

"It could've," she said, satisfied with her minimal repair. She peered up at him. "Zack _Fair."_

He grinned and squatted by her. "What's _that _supposed to mean, Ms. Gainsborough?"

"It means," she squinted her eyes at him, close to jest; "you should live up to your name more."

She stood up in a split of a movement, and he almost lost his balance from rocking backward on his heels.

"I didn't even do any…"

Her laugh made him stop. "Just come inside. You need to meet Elmyra." She shook her head at him. "Such unprofessional soldiers these days…"

He figured she was joking, despite the serious country-girl coated tone of voice.

* * *

"Hey, mom?"

The effortless Elmyra called from where he thought was the kitchen.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"We have…" she sideways glanced. "A visitor."

There was a clanging of a pot, a slap of a towel, and then the swish of the door to their right.

"A visitor?" Elmyra was smiling, but she stilled when she caught the look of him, standing carelessly inside their living room. He noticed the humbleness, the pastel furniture against neutrality of the walls, the dark cherry wood tables yearning for attention. The ceramic vases were filled with foreign flowers that he could not recall from their backyard, boldly clashing with everything else.

It smelled like a home, but the only thing he could smell now was essence of detest.

He wasn't wearing his garb, though it was in vain. Try as he might, there was nothing to conceal his eyes.

"Hello," he charmed. "I'm known as Zack Fair." He held out his hand in a peaceful gesture.

Elmyra watched it closely, then decided to take it. "I'm Elmyra," she stung him straight through the eyes with a big smile. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Ah," he rubbed his head sheepishly. "I'm here…under the placement of the newly revised Quartering Act." He reached for the paper in his back pocket. "It states here that we soldiers are to have adequate housing and provisions from the people of this town, and the colonies of the surrounding area."

Aerith wrapped her hand around the statement, and slightly ashamed, he let her.

"So this means…you're living here?"

"Not permanently…" Zack wanted to jump and attain his professionalism back. It was hard under the pointed stares they were giving. "Just until further notice."

"Further notice…" Elmyra put one hand on her hip. "Right…"

Zack never knew three words could make a man feel so guilty – about, well, anything.

"I've – left my stuff out front. But I got distracted. "

There was an uncomfortable gap with silence, but as all gaps do, it passed.

"Saw the flowers?" he was surprised to witness the half-crooked smile on Elmyra's face. "Or my daughter?"

Aerith rolled her eyes before he had a chance to recover. "Oh, mom. You know I can't help what men do."

She turned so he could see her wink, and then she laughed. "Go on, get your stuff. I'll show you to the spare bedroom we have."

In a flip, he suddenly didn't feel so bad. But his feelings had always been a bit like trick candles. Whenever he'd see Elmyra, or Aerith, in those vulnerable moments, the flame came back. Always, always, always.

Dinner wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Elmyra and Aerith were like ping pong boards, pointedly ignoring their discomfort with him sitting mere inches away, talking about how the boy in the market was selling overpriced ribbons, how the garden was living a separate life from reality, and _really mom, what am I going to do with this weird cowlick I have right – _here?

Elmyra coated her sentences with yeses and really dears? and_ we could always use some scissors_..

But though she was holding her teacup steady, her eyes did not sparkle.

Zack wasn't prone to being so attentive to faces, but alien places relied on instinctual impulses. The home's welcome had worn away, and perhaps his rifle shot a burning hole through the mat on the porch. But even if they couldn't accept him, he'd worm his way into their gracious hands. He had that thing about him – he knew it, lots of people did. It was hard not to after a certain time in his life. There were a lot of feminine faces he could remember.

"So, Zack…" Aerith's green eyes poked at him. "What ranking are you?"

"First Class," he replied with a flick of hair. "I'm usually in the spec ops department, but we're pretty versatile. We move around all the time," in his casual wording lie bragging rights he thought would be sinful to leave behind. He had the urge to place his boots up on the table, but thought better of it.

"That sounds…impressive," she sipped her cocoa, examining over her cup. "What kinds of things do you do? Being first class must have some interesting jobs."

He stabbed a generous sample of his cherry pie. "It actually doesn't. I sometimes do field missions or reconnaissance – just like the regular soldiers. Only, I take on the missions that need more experience, skill and..._expertise_." He grinned with cherry goo painting his lips. "Nothing I can't handle."

She considered him, eyes shrinking from her scrutinizing eyelids. It failed to hide the tease inside.

But Elmyra spoke up before Aerith opened her mouth. "Aerith? Would you like to help me wash the dishes tonight?"

She swallowed the last dregs of her drink and smiled. "Of course, mom. Want me to fetch the water basin?"

"That would be wonderful, dear," Elmyra nodded. "Can you start heating up the water now? It always takes a while."

Aerith's smile sizzled out flat, and she had this funny look in her eyes. "Alright…" she paused. "But I'll be back _soon_ to gather the dishes."

Elmyra gave a tired smile. "Don't worry, I know."

As Aerith left the room, her eyes were still scrunched and directed toward Elmyra. Her back was a little rigid walking down the hallway.

Zack frowned. He'd heard of mother-daughter internal communication, but that concept couldn't even touch the tallest spike he had.

However, he _did_ see him and Elmyra were now alone.

She crossed her hands into one fist on the table, a lecture worthy stance. Zack had seen that with his own mother more than a million times, at least. To think, he couldn't get away from these kinds of things, Lifestream miles apart.

"So, Mr. Fair," she started.

"Oh, please Ms. Gainsborough. Call me Zack."

"Okay…Zack," she breathed in. "I just…wanted to lay down a few ground rules before you get too…comfortable."

"Yeah.." he grinned. "Yeah, okay. Ground rules are my specialty." …usually.

"Yes – but these might be a bit different," she glanced to the door Aerith went through. "You see, Aerith is my other half, truly. It doesn't matter any longer that she's adopted. It never did. And I don't know what I would do if anything happened to her," she shook her head. "But she is a bit different from the other neighborhood girls. She always has been. The garden takes up most of her time, and I daresay her mind as well, but I know deep down, she has those fantasies of a knight to come in and rescue her. She hides them, but I know they're there. I've had them too." She gave him a melted butter stare. "And then you show up in her little field of flowers, a soldier and all."

Then she smiled, soft and polite. "Zack, I know you can hurt us. I don't know which way, but you can, and that option will never leave – even in the bonds of a family."

She reached out, hesitant and uncertain, but it was very brief. He knew it was because she was a mother, and good mothers just _were_.

"I'm not asking for you to like us, Zack. I'm not asking you to be our friend. All I want is your respect." Her eyes glimmered. "Not trust or loyalty. Only respect."

He turned his hand over, her warmth cascading into his open palm. He closed his fingers around it.

"You had it the moment I walked in here, Ms. Gainsborough," he said.

She watched him a while, for a snap of suspension. It came apart with her beatific smile.

"I had a feeling you'd say the right thing," she surprised him again with a wink.

"I _do_ have a wide range of gifts."

She laughed and let go of his hand.

"I bet you have a talented stomach, too. Want another piece of cherry pie?"

* * *

He disintegrated onto his bed. He tried to remember when the last time was that he felt so full. His stomach pulled and stretched, and he could swear it was touching the outer lining of his skin. It had been a long time.

He reached for the letter in his back pocket, putting it in front of his face and checking the crinkles. It arrived right before the debriefing, as all the mail usually did. It was sporadic, and the days had no routine, but they would come.

He twirled it in the air, his name a burnt splash against the canvas. He slid a finger underneath the seal, and read it hungrily, then gradually, then at a regular pace. He smiled in some places, pondered, frowned…

Everyone was doing well, and her job didn't put her under any unfriendly fire, which was an unexpected pleasantry. He never knew what to expect from her, whether it was her sweet smiley faces she'd draw in the margins or blood droplets concealed as dotted I's.

He had this finger tightening feeling whenever a new sentence started, flickers of doubt riding on her _But_'s. Her cursive was reassuring. Loopy and lightly easy.

Reaching over for his bag, he took out his notepad and chewed-all-over pen. He placed the tip on the paper and started in his royally crappy scrawl.

_Dear Cissnei…_

_You still keep to that confidentiality agreement? Please. How come you're such a goody-goody? _

_I, on the other hand, don't care.

* * *

_

"Rise and shine, sleepy head!"

It was the most charming alarm clock chime. He reached over to the desk, and the butt of his palm hit petrified wood.

He moaned.

"Zack Fair? Zack Fair." It was a deep tone, this time. "I repeat, First Class Soldier, Zack Fair, number two-seven-six-four-oh, we need back up."

What? Number? Had he ever been charged with a number? Actually, wait, yes. Yes he did. He just…sleep…tired…

"There has been an emergency, recalled from a household kitchen, three-four-two Gainsborough Avenue…"

Gainsborough…Gainsborough.

He sat up, skin sticky and hair matte. He searched for his pack in the corner frenetically, his boots at the edge of the bed. His rifle was leaning against the wall, glinting with death wishes, and he launched for it, the metal nicking his fingers. He slung it over his shoulder and grabbed his boots, hopping with unsteady feet on the soft ground, one hop, two hops, three –

He fell back, and the neck of the rifle stabbed his own.

"_Damn it_."

The springy carpet gave him leverage, and he rolled over to stare at brown, leather layered boots. Nonmilitary boots. Gardening boots.

There was laughter.

He craned his eyes to see the inevitable.

"Zack – " she wheezed, giggles befriending chortles and white teeth. "You didn't – honestly – think."

His eyelids squeaked shut, and his hand seized a fistful of hair. He plummeted backward, landing with a bounce as his head _thunked _hollow on the bed frame.

"Guess I didn't." His cheeks felt ridiculously hot.

"Your face," she clutched her belly, and she gazed at him with happy judgment. "Oh, Zack."

"Yeah, yeah, you think you're so clever," despite the annoyance, she was infectious. He gave a miniature smile, but it held betrayal.

"If it makes you feel any better," she stopped chuckling, "I came in here thinking I'd get hit with a pillow."

"A pillow, huh?" he pushed up, leaning back on his elbows on the bed. He shoved his rifle by the headrest.

"Well, I knew you couldn't possibly point your rifle at me."

He raised an eyebrow to her. "Don't you remember? I'm First Class," he highlighted. "Civilians that get in the way of being a great soldier – like taking away their sleep – are considered for a first degree charge of assault."

She scrunched up her nose, and distrustfully leaned back against the doorjamb."That's not gonna work on me."

He shrugged. "It doesn't have to. For you," he added. Then he started tilting toward the headrest. "But it does for me." Her eyes landed on the rifle, then on his inching hands. "You can't say I didn't warn you."

She became suspicious. "I can't if you shoot me."

"Your bad luck, I guess," and he was touching his rifle, and suddenly, Aerith had the strangest urge to_ run_.

A pillow stopped her.

"_Zack!" _She menaced, but the feather down made it sound like a squeal.

Retaliating, he was the one delivering guffaws. "Your _face."_

She tugged the pillow down in a dramatic sweep, looking like a pregnant puff ball on her stomach.

"So clever," she almost mocked evil, almost mocked sweet. The lively summer in her eyes built a subtle thrumming in his chest, and he stood on the defensive.

"I don't have to try."

"Neither do I."

"I think we'll have to call it a draw, then."

"Hmm…" she feigned thoughtfulness. "That could be _fair." _

He smirked. She smiled.

"But…I was going to invite you to breakfast..." her lip creases bunched.

He perked, his stomach forgetting his old breached capacity in a growl.

"Okay!" he jumped up eagerly, but she held out a hand.

"Nope!" she grinned. "Breakfast has been revoked!"

"Wha – "

"If you need to think about it –you're much too clever for that, but I'll tell you anyway – death threats can take their toll on a lady," she seemed positively wicked in pre-victory. She stepped a foot out of the room, inching, inching.

"Hey, wait – "

"Tah-tah for now!" she slithered into the hallway, closing the door with a snap and crackle – _pop_!

He grasped the doorknob, a little too late on the uptake. It jiggled, jiggled, locked.

"Aerith! Come back!" he banged a fist down.

"It's Ms. Gainsborough to you!" she called up, a giggle interlaced. It seeped under the doorframe in celebration.

He head-butted the obstacle, gathering his defeat in a moan. His stomach growled in vicious protest.

The things a soldier had to _go_ through.

* * *

The knock came when they were all seated to breakfast. (Zack jumped out the window from his bedroom, and the front door was, miraculously, unlocked.)

It turned out that Elmyra was given the whole story, red-faced from laughing, and both women didn't give him any pitying glances besides the occasional smirking. And he was too tired to do anything but sulk.

It figured.

"I'll get it!" Aerith bounded up from her chair, crossing over to the door. With relish, she pulled it open.

And then it was oddly silent.

Zack gave a curious glance from his pancakes, his fork trying to stab through a meaty strawberry. From his angle, he could only see the door.

"Hello…" Aerith's voice was small. "May I help you?"

"Yes," a pause. "I believe Zack Fair is quartering here?"

That voice was unmistakable. Zack gave a hiatus to his fork assault. Of all people to retrieve him, why did they send the most important? Were there already offenses from the community?

His stomach deflated into knots. There was nothing worse than waking up to the sky raining soldiers. Especially on top of an _almost could have been _emergency.

He caught some of the wisps from Aerith's braid. He gave them a minute glare.

"He is…" she changed the pressure from foot to foot. "But he's quite busy right now. May I take a message?"

Zack choked and dropped his fork in a clatter. He jolted out of his seat and bounded to the door.

"Whoa, whoa, I'm here, I'm here." He placed a hand on Aerith's shoulder. "Aerith, I wasn't busy."

She glanced up to him. "Breakfast is the most important meal. And you were busy eating it." She patted his stomach in a knowing way. "Besides, you're First Class. It's mandatory."

Zack shook his head, grinning. "Well, General Sephiroth is the most important soldier here. So it cancels out." He nodded in acknowledgment toward the man, giving him a respecting salute. "General Sephiroth, sir."

Zack was a bit taken aback by the amused smile showing boldly on his face, staring down at Aerith. "Uh, forgive _Ms. Gainsborough_. She's kind of naïve about military manners. And people." He grinned at her.

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not_ naïve_," she said. "But I _am_ sorry." She looked up to the General, abashed and forming a shy smile. She raised her hand in greeting. "Aerith Gainsborough, sir."

Sephiroth's amused expression became a curious amount of interested. "A pleasure, Ms. Gainsborough."

He took her hand in a delicate gesture, and nodded his head in a semi-bow.

"Yes," she answered. "A pleasure."

It was then, Zack realized with a horror, she was blushing.

Aerith, _blushing_. From _Sephiroth_.

Zack had stuck close to the theory that the man was asexual. He never seemed to acknowledge that obsessed fan base he cultivated in the home country. Or women, for that matter. He was a class A, bona fide amoebic male who was aroused only, occasionally, _barely_ by his own sword mastery. A clone of him was going to happen, one day, and when it did, Zack would become rich from that secret bet medley he created amongst his comrades.

But _now_. He looked certifiably intrigued.

Zack's hand tightened on her shoulder. He had that gut feeling. That gut feeling where the pancakes you just ate were spontaneously combusting, and your stomach was in a mantra repetition, _this is not good._

However, like most gut feelings, he couldn't comprehend why they sprouted, at the exact moment.

All he knew was to steer the conversation elsewhere.

"So, uh, General. What's the news?"

* * *

Behemoths. Damn behemoths. A whole pack of them.

"Is this normal?" Zack asked, green sludge collecting on his buster. Swords, as it happened, worked better on such enormous beasts. "I've never heard of behemoths traveling in packs before."

"It's not," said Sephiroth. He placed a cloth on his katana, wiping with an unrestricted patience. "It happens rarely, in such circumstances as these."

Zack examined the corpse, the shoulder of it coming up to his chin. The fangs seemed to rival the length of his hair. "Circumstances?"

"Yes," he stated. "Do you not feel the tension? It is palpable."

For one crazy second, Zack thought Sephiroth meant the newly awoken tension between them.

But. There was no tension. Not really.

"You mean the tension of the soldiers and the citizens?"

Sephiroth walked around to stand on the crest of the hill, his stance calculated. "There has been an unnecessary amount of friction the past few days." He sheathed his sword. "It's hard to miss."

Zack sighed. "So…the behemoths are in packs because of tension?"

"Yes."

"…Seriously?"

Sephiroth could be smirking. "Yeah, _seriously_."

"_Why_?"

"Protection, most likely."

"From us?" He stretched out a kink in his side, taking his view off the decaying monster. He shifted his eyes toward the grassy plains, still frosted from the dull, gray sky morning. The purple fiends were bright radar dots, flickering in and out, in and out, and it was a foreboding jumble when there was nothing else to look to. "Most people need protection from _them_."

"It's instinctual," he explained. "In desperate times."

Desperate times.

Zack felt the wind chill his skin.

* * *

Days passed similar afterward. Aerith's teasing and story-telling of flowers and friends, different officers coming by to send off Zack (but it would more often than not be Sephiroth), and when he would come back, he would be greeted by Elmyra or Aerith, and the smell of a roaring dinner seared his stomach every time.

The rebelling developed from petty little fliers to blown up, full throttle mobs. They hadn't gained the courage for something drastic again, as of yet, but Zack knew it was coming. The recent debriefing the soldiers had was by and large about the rebels, and the rumors spreading of a covert bombing of the Shinra governing house.

The idea was one to be waved off, preposterous and dramatically tacky, but Zack wasn't one to put it past the civilians. If they were able to bomb a guarded ship, they would be able to bomb anything. The main question was: where had the abundance of mako come from?

And now, more importantly, where had it gone?

The shower induced a myriad of thoughts, but his drying wet hair damped out his thoughts. The embers sizzled in protest, and then the steam fizzled in his sigh.

The gorgeous smells in the air took over his absentee brain, and there was a rebound in his strides as he walked down the hallway and toward the kitchen.

I bet it's…chicken. With broccoli, and maybe, if I'm lucky they'll have made that orgasmic apple cobbler –

"…rebelling!" he heard. Her voice was a bit higher than he was used to, and the word pushed the automatic alert. His feet stopped and his thoughts stopped.

"Oh, dear, you don't mean Tifa? And Cloud?"

"All of them, mom. I don't know what to do! I've tried telling them that the risk is at its highest right now, and if they're not smart about what they're doing…"

Aerith's voice was abruptly strangled.

"Shh, it's alright, honey. It's alright. Things like this have their own way of working out. You'll see.."

"But, they're going to do something drastic. To get everyone's attention. They've already gotten someone's, and that's how they have information leaks from the government, but they want everyone to know about what's going on!" He heard a plate clatter on the table. "With…with mako, and…and bombs." The anger was showing, now. "Destruction. That's all that group thinks about."

Zack imagined her cheeks red and her head shaking. "Why can't anything be peaceful anymore, Elmyra? Why can't all of this just disappear?"

There was silence for a length, and then a chair scraped the wooden floor.

"If it was peaceful, Aerith, then I would question humanity."

Zack swallowed the information in one solid gulp. It was not a surprise. But the stamp of surety made it so much more surreal, and the unknown of when decayed the delicious wafts from above into a stench.

He wished like Aerith, but he agreed with Elmyra.

It had been a long time since he believed in peace.

* * *

"That merchant still won't go down on the prices." Aerith speared a pea, smashing out the green glop with the point of her knife.

"You mean that ribbon guy?" Zack watched her, entertained by her puckered frown.

"Yes," she swirled the pea with her mashed potatoes. "I almost had him with a twenty percent reduction, but he held fast."

Zack spluttered with his tea. "You mean you tried to _haggle_?"

Her face upraised in an indignant pose. "What's so surprising about that?"

"Aerith," Elmyra spoke up, "what have I told you about bargaining with the merchants around here?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like anything will happen, besides them rejecting it."

"Oh, dear, the sell keepers are shady around this area," Elmyra held that reprimanding scowl. "They'll try anything to scam a pretty girl like you."

"That isn't the problem, mom." At her mother's face, Aerith interjected, "Really, don't worry! I can handle myself, I just – wanted the ribbon."

Elmyra sighed and prayed to the ceiling, "Stubborn and head-strong and teenaged…"

Zack had been grinning nonstop. "You know, Elmyra, next time Aerith here has this itch to hound the merchants, I can supervise."

At the proposition, Elmyra considered him.

"Oh Zack, that's really sweet, but – " Aerith panicked.

"Well…"

" – I've been going by myself for a long time, and I don't think it's that big of a deal to – "

"Okay," Elmyra settled. "Aerith, as soon as you decide again – "

She interrupted, "But this has never been a problem before." Her eyes were wide, eyelashes seeming to spread like cat claws. She turned to face Zack, and the green behind them was determined.

"You're a busy guy, Zack. The last thing I'd want to do is burden you."

There was something about the way she said it – truthful like a sharpened knife. It poked at him, and it bothered him. But stopping it would slice his hand, nick him with tiny cuts.

It was then he knew – that voice would be able to make him rethink anything.

He examined her with a thoughtful stare, pulling back enough in the odd attempt to get away from the poking.

"Don't ever think you're a burden to me, Aerith," he reached out to contact her small fist. Her eyes flittered to it, then looked back up to him. "And how could I let anyone take advantage of a sweet girl like you? That would be the biggest crime of all."

He hoped it sounded in his best suave tone – and though it came effortless, he was still liable to practice, just to make sure it was still able to make a three hundred meter radius of jelly knees and swimming heads.

He wouldn't admit it, not right now and possibly not ever, but it was a splinter under his fingernails.

He still hadn't made Aerith blush.

And though he was confident, enthusiastic even, through his fingers stroking her slackening knuckles and his melting ice cream accent, he was heavily disappointed.

Her face split into a halving smile. It was big and wide, positively radiant. But that was all he found.

"Fine, Zack," she faked a huff, "you win." Her eyes filed playfully. "This time. Don't think I'll fall for it so easily the next time."

She slipped her hand back and picked up her plate. "I'll grab the dishes tonight. And I'll wash them." She gathered up the rest, sending a cheerful glance toward Elmyra. "By _myself,_" she emphasized. "You should go rest up, mom. You have been acting tired lately… are those wrinkles I'm seeing?"

She made a show of leaning over Elmyra and reaching for the crow's nest in the cliff of her eye. Elmyra laughed and slapped her hand away.

"Oh, hush! I do not," she waved Aerith off, and Aerith, balancing the plates in one hand, almost dropped them as she scooted some distance in a giggle.

As she vanished into the next room, Elmyra lent Zack a carefree gaze. "I need to thank you."

Zack realized absently that he was watching the kitchen doorway. "Huh?"

"My gratitude," she gestured. "Without your…_expertise_ in persuasion, I don't think Aerith would ever agree to your supervision."

He rested the back of his head in his interlaced hands, rocking back on the chair legs. "There's no thanks needed. I'm happy I can assist her in any way I can. But I'm sure she would have given into you, Ms. Gainsborough. You're a wonderful mother."

Her eyes rolled above her tea glass, and she said, "You have a talented mouth, too, don't you?"

Zack shrugged sloppily. "So I've been told."

He watched with glee – and maybe a smidgen of annoyance – as Elmyra turned a cotton candy pink. "Haven't I told you to call me by my name? Ms. Gainsborough makes me sound – older."

Her fingers fidgeted on the paisley tablecloth, and she smoothed a piece of her bun-in hair with a bashful hand. Zack couldn't help but beam.

"Older? Nah." He became sly, and he did a turn-tilt of his head that was unjustifiably dazzling. "It makes you sound sophisticated and classy."

She opened her mouth in a reciprocate move, fifteen instead of fifty, and shut it. She masked it with a rebuffing motion. "Oh, come off it, Zack."

"_Come_? Off or," he paused slightly, "on, Elmyra?" His lips pulled over his teeth in a predatory smile.

The burnt red spread from her nose all the way to her hair roots, like spilled, spreading punch. Flabbergasted, she breathed out, "Mr. Fair!"

It was endearing and lovely, but he held his tongue. The look in her eyes had made him stand up, and he knew whatever he would happen to say would be a death, multiplied.

"Kidding!" He held up his hands in surrender. "I have to say, I think I'm exhausted, so I'm just gonna…" he stepped backward, his stealth mode very un-stealthy. "Goodnight!"

He dashed into the hallway, hitting vases and table legs and walls. Elmyra watched him go, in a vague, sort of wistful, sort of appalled way. But the humor outweighed the scales, and she bubbled up in thunderous laughter.

* * *

Hidden and safe in his room, Zack repeated his procedure with the letters, exactly like the first night.

They, he was confused and elated to say, were coming in shorter times. Instead of waiting for one week or two weeks, he was only waiting two or three days. This, in itself, was a feat to behold. But it made him wonder, as he read the tightening loops and the rollercoaster curves of the l's and o's, the sharp diagonal of the v's and the maze of the e's.

It made him fear.

She didn't mention family or friends as timing progressed. She asked about him and evaded the questions he was frightened to know the answers to.

She forgot to dot her I's, sometimes. He guessed, if she drew smiley faces, they would not be smiling.

And when Zack pulled out his notebook, he couldn't find the pen.

He thought, maybe, he didn't want to.

_Cissnei, Cissnei…_

_I want to love you, too.

* * *

_

Just like that, a month had gone by.

"I'll get it!" Aerith was used to bounding away to the front door, the expected knock molding into their breakfast routine.

Zack stood slowly, agonizingly, away from the benediction they fittingly pronounced Eggs Benedict.

"Goodbye, my love…"

Elmyra squelched down her amusement as she peeked into the room. "If you think that's good, wait until dinner," she said.

Hope sparked in him, but then his lips did a downward spiral. "But…dinner is so far away…"

"Lunch then," she promised. "And you better be here, or it'll be for nothing."

Zack was beginning to fall in love with her, he was positive. He sprung into the air, delighted to an utmost extent. He hopped around his chair and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You need to stop spoiling me," he lied. "I won't be able to eat the soldier rations when I go back."

She placed her hands on her hips. "Eat it up while it lasts, then."

He spun on his heel with a grin, waving his farewell. "You can be sure of that." And as he approached the door, something miraculous happened.

It…wasn't for him.

Aerith's head peered around the wooden shield, hinting that he should_ know_.

"Oh, Zack, I'm actually going out, today. To the church," she smiled. "Elmyra knows already, and I'll be back in a few hours!" The door slammed in his face, and he wasn't able to see who was behind it.

This was much too suspicious.

He ran over to the nearest window, and the pressure from his smashed nose almost cracked the glass.

Pink and brown clashed with silver and black, and that Eggs Benedict churned and churned until it proclaimed he didn't want to go back to the table.

Sephiroth? _Sephiroth_? What was Aerith _thinking_?

"ELMYRA!"

* * *

"You _knew_?"

Technically, he should have known. He berated himself for forgetting, for not listening to that gut twisting.

She looked up from her rustic book, yellow pages connected with dust.

"You didn't?"

The pointed stare made him want to collapse. He turned to the floor.

"You're okay with it?"

He heard the book shut, and her feet padding on the squiggly carpet. "Sephiroth is one of the best soldiers out there." Her sandals came into his view, and he could see their wear and tear, the leather splitting down the sides. They had wrinkles, like laughing lines.

"That doesn't mean – "

She grasped his shoulder with her hand. "Nobody said that she was in love with him, Zack."

There was something in her tone. Soothing and pity and that something. Good mothers had that something.

He felt the crash of nostalgia. But the squiggles on the floor became abstract patterns, up, down, around, diagonal. It looked like a map.

"Ever heard of those things called crushes?"

Zack sighed, and he took the bait. He let his eyes come to a rest on her slanting mouth and her meaningful expression.

"They're a dime a dozen, and you know that." She patted his face. "I'm sure if you went to college, you would major in that sort of thing."

He cracked a smile, and she stepped backward, crossing her arms.

"And, if I may be honest…" her pause was a little bit long. She seemed to come to a conclusion, and she finished, "I feel perfectly safe with it."

Zack blinked out something like a sneer. "But he's – "

"Sephiroth, I know," she smiled a little. "I've done my duties and read the papers, I've gone and dug up the information I need to know on that man. And I've met him too."

Zack stood still.

"He's come for lunch before, when you were out fulfilling your heroic deeds," her smile became a melancholy backdrop to his face. "He's a good man."

A good man.

Zack knew it, the army knew it, Elmyra knew it, and now, Aerith had known it too. Knows it. Is basking in it as they spoke.

But before he could know about it any longer, there was a blustering knock at the door.

And this time, it was for him.

* * *

He slammed the door open in accomplishment. The morning had been a satisfying renewal, and the endorphins he was feeling from taking down the monster – and saving quite a few citizens – had been the release he needed. Sure, the briefing before was adorned with new information about the rebelling group, whose name was now identified as AVALANCHE – the all caps, he joked, meant business – and they were close to finding the base. But the stress had been taken out of him.

"Aerith!" he called. "You won't believe what happened! I saved – "

He walked into the dining room to walk into a barrage of scents. It was a beautiful thing, indeed.

He noticed two lunch plates set out, two napkins, two sets of utensils. There were two glasses of tea ready, decked with a lemon slice on the rim.

Elmyra bustled out of the kitchen, carrying a tray of two robust sandwiches, gleaming in the spotlight of the chandelier.

But the spotlight was partially dull, and he thought absently that the bulbs needed changing.

Elmyra persisted in her polished front, ignoring the fact of Zack's slight displeasure and the drop of his stomach.

Yet, he ate, and he let her know he enjoyed it, loved it, loved her – because, he reflected, it was true – and he was grateful for it.

And he told her instead, about the lady lunging in front of her son, and how he swooped in from a rooftop – in the nick of time – and caught the dragon by the throat. But the spectacle of it was its regeneration, a thing unknown, a thing scarcely identified. The deadly slit became a stitched scab in a matter of seconds, and people stopped in disbelief. He could hear the shutters opening, the muted gasps screaming around the cages of his ears.

He prided himself on his thinking. Trial and error, trial and error, under pressure – and he listened to his gut, for once, because both he and himself came to a frantic friendship. The language was easy to translate now, and Zack grimaced at the thought, swearing that if he could have comprehended it a long time ago, it would have saved him a lot of ugly messes. Perhaps, however, that was the whole point of it, throughout the years.

He took the opening, feigning and twirling into the heart. It was a beating red plum amidst the tangle of webbed veins, and the dragon fell in defeat. The golden sun eyes flashed, one – two – almost three – and emptied into a pile of ashes, billowing into smoke.

In the end, the lady gave him the flowers she had picked for her daughter back home. He almost turned down her small offer of gratitude, but thought better of it.

"I figured Aerith would be able to tell me the names, but she's not here."

He ended his tale with a liberal gulp of tea.

Elmyra noticed the wry smile on his face, fusing with the glass.

And she knew that he had not enjoyed his sandwich.

* * *

As it happened, there would be those blissful reprieves. On certain days, there would be no knocks, no demands, no cries, and the street's eyes gleamed instead of glared.

They were few, a golden rarity – but these were the times Zack loved most of all.

Aerith took up residence at the corner desk (because as it went, the door didn't knock for her either). She'd doodle on the ripped pages from his notebook, the ones he left scattered and blank. She complained about his pen, asking if he really was so desperate to eat inanimate objects.

"Is your stomach made out of iron?"

Zack groaned, "No, but – "

"Then don't chew your pens. It's a nasty habit," and she would go on drawing intersecting lines and flowers, the things she saw so much and the things she never did.

He rounded above her head once, curious to the intense, harsh scratches she was making. As he leaned in close, he made sure he could touch her back and the hairs of her arms. His cheek was right where he wanted it, hovering beside hers.

"Nice drawing," he said. He shifted with a brush and stole the pen. "But the teeth are longer…" he inked over her blunt pyramids in dramatic curving triangles. "If you think of my hair, then it's spot on."

He arched his back more, thinking. "The claws are spread wider, too." He wanted to say, like your eyelashes. But that would be a strange thing to tell.

She let herself twist, nose to nose, and Zack almost took advantage. He noticed the freckle in her right eye, the haunting apple spice of her breath.

She reached up to his face, and her fingers were rough – little guardian statuettes.

"Zack…" and this was it, wasn't it? The countdown, the undeniable _I can't I won't I shouldn't, _but I will.

"You should write back."

He should become more guarded around her, but he still thought he wouldn't be able to rid the surprise factor.

He backed off, her hand falling to the chair. "What.." he trailed softly. "How did you…"

She took a piece of paper off the table. "It says Cissnei.." and he saw it, the letters of her name bold and betraying. "Your wastebasket is full, too."

Zack felt angry. Zack was angry, and he didn't want to be.

"That's none – " he swallowed, and the pause was inevitable. He never considered himself a man to keep a lady waiting. But here he was with paper cuts and pen marked fingernails.

He blamed it on Aerith, because she _was_ most of the reason. He blamed it on Elmyra, too, and the climaxing monster raids, the resistance groups. But he needed to blame himself, and he already had that figured out. Coming to terms was, sometimes, difficult.

"I will," he said, instead.

She tilted her head. Her expectant eyes were thorough. "What's she like?"

She's…what is she?

She's – a murderer. Like me and Sephiroth. But her heart was solid and soft.

"She has wavy, auburn hair. Big, brown eyes…super smart," he watched the popcorn ceiling, suspended in their pop. "She's one of my best friends."

"Do you miss her?"

The answer wasn't immediate, as it once was. He had to think about it – he never had to before.

"Not as much as I used to."

"Well…" Aerith coaxed. "Do you love her?"

He sighed, walking across the room, past his footboard and to the opposite wall. "I've thought about that for a long time," he pivoted and came around. "And I..." Zack felt a little raw in his mouth. "I don't think I do. Not in the way she wants me to."

He feathered a hand through his hair, and before she could continue with her investigation, he intervened. "Enough about me. What about you and Mr. Badass General?"

She laughed, and the transition was as beautiful and quick as a hummingbird. "He's a good guy – a lot deeper than just a great soldier."

"Let me guess…" he bowed closer to her face. "You braid each other's hair?"

She smacked his head away, with a tease of a smile and an eye roll. "He's interested in more than my hair."

He gave her a look at that, and she scoffed. "You know what I mean."

He kept his suspicion, but he decided not to push. It became the alternative.

"Well… you've never seen him like I have." Zack leaned against the desk, and his eyes shone a mischievous light. "He can be dangerous – a man full of power."

"Oh really?" She tiptoed around to face him. "Well, what can this General do with such _dangerous_ power, Zack?"

He grinned – on the inside. "Oh…all kinds of things. From killing civilians…to shooting helpless dogs…to – and this is a big one – _stepping on pretty flowers_." A knot formed between his eyebrows.

"_Not_ the flowers." She gasped.

"Yes, Aerith, especially the flowers." He glared seriously. "_Your_ flowers to be exact."

She let her eyes lower in a fit of distress. "…maybe I should rethink this?"

"You really should." He nodded vigorously. " Do you really want to risk your heart being broken by a vicious flower trampling madman?"

"Of course not… But he's so_ mysterious." _She twirled around with her hands blended together. "He's got that devilish and handsome look to him." Then she went forlorn, pinning him backward with big, watery eyes. "What should I do? I'm completely torn.."

He grinned, and now it was full blown on the outside. "…you know what can fix up tears like this?"

She dramatically plopped on the bed behind her, ignoring him in her woe. "What could possibly fix this?"

He lunged.

She squirmed on the bed in an awkward position, trying to hold back squeals, "Zack! How did you know…!" she trailed in a bout of muffled shrieks.

"What? Tickling is the remedy for _everything_," he laughed.

But like most nice things, it ended in a swirl of breaths.

Her cheeks were flushed, green eyes liquid glassy. Her braid was mashed to the pillow like a lasso, and he was facing her, laying juxtaposed with a line of blanket down the middle.

Her breath was still trying to calm itself, and she smelled like the apple cobbler they made on his worst days. They sensed it, somehow, each time.

And now, it was as if she sensed it again. He was always bad at hiding behind jokes, and the alternative he had been thinking before became the front runner in a matter of seconds.

"Do you love him?"

Her cheeks were still a cherry cream, and she let out one breathy gust. Her shoulders slumped in time with it, and her eyes were still open, vivid and bright.

She reached a hand out and cupped the side of his face, but it was tedious. She positioned her fingertips on his cheekbone one by one, concentrating in their placement. It was as if she was searching his skin with her calluses, treading and hooking. His eyes drooped in response – by her refreshing touch or the peculiar analyzing of each other, he wasn't sure. But he liked it, and he laboriously refrained from putting his hand above hers.

"…I don't know, Zack." She rubbed her thumb over the jaw-line scar, the transparent freckles by his nose.

"That's a shame," he said.

"It'd help," she went on. "If I knew what it was supposed to feel like."

Her eyes were like spotlights on a pool, and Zack never had been a great swimmer, as things went. But they were budding and wondering, and he found he didn't mind it.

"Do you know what it feels like, Zack? To love somebody so…completely?"

He swallowed down the illogical ice cubes of fear – they were square and chipped. They were things he wasn't used to. But it was a split second, and they melted into uncomfortably cold water. He wasn't sure which was worse, but he was confident under spotlights. It never was a problem for him.

He didn't refrain any longer. He let his glove-free hand unlatch hers, mimicking her tediousness, one by one. He fiddled with them for a moment, then he rearranged them on his chest.

He took a breath and for a brief minute in time, nothing was uncertain.

"Yeah."

She stared at their hands, and then she closed her eyes. She furrowed her brows as she leaned her head down, and she listened intently to the race-to-the-finish of his heart.

There was a welling of refreshment crawling up the lines of his sternum, from her hand seeping into his clothes. He knew it was her hands, caretakers and guiders. But they contained magic of the most absolute kind.

She was different – an anomaly in the middle of chaos.

The light flared from her eyes again, and they didn't shy away. They wouldn't shy away from anything. Her hand didn't draw back, and the pillow held him in place.

And he thought, she was one of a kind – one of a kind in a deck full of queens, kings, jokers. Play his cards right, and he may win the jackpot.

Looking at her enforced him slipping her card into his cuff, a bluff, and a breach of security. His heart box rattled, the police called for submission.

She scooted closer, silently, and she kissed him soft.

Her hand stayed where it was, and everything stopped.

* * *

He was going to be late to lunch, but today it didn't matter to him.

The stands were shabby and in dire need of wooden replacements. The men calling out were annoying, and he didn't understand how Aerith could do it. But it was helpful, them calling out their items and accessories, even though he didn't want to admit it.

He turned another corner, turning his head in fast swivels and his eyes raking out signs and titles, pushing all the wrong ones into a discarded pile.

"Ribbons! Get your womanly accessories here!"

Ah. There it was.

Zack walked a few more meters, and he came to a stop before rows and rows of jewelry and ribbons, bracelets, necklaces and makeup. It was an eclectic rainbow and he wondered how he hadn't found it sooner.

"Mornin' sir! You here on behalf of the ladies?" the man looked him up and down, giving a loose smile.

"You could say that," he reached around and pulled out his wallet. "Do you by chance have a pink ribbon that costs more than it's worth?"

The man looked ecstatic. He jumped up and pulled out a reel of a cloth, brandishing it with heavy exuberance.

"Good sir, this fine piece of spun artwork is not priced any higher than it deserves! It's magical! One of a kind!" his eyes glittered, taking in Zack's speculative glance. "It prevents status ailments! Poison! Even death!"

Zack rubbed his chin. "A ribbon can do all that?"

The man leaped and took advantage of Zack's guard. "Yes! You must believe it! This ribbon has quite a history – it is said that it was handed down from generation to generation of the Cetra. Of course, it got lost in translation down the way ever since we colonized on their lands."

"Cetra, you say?" The man's eyes were laced with storytelling, but Zack didn't notice. He was too busy reaching out and touching the ribbon, enchanted by the feel of it underneath his fingers.

"Why, yes, the Cetra! Of course!" the man twitched his worn collar. "You see, the last Cetra to ever own this ribbon was…how you say…doomed or, or destined so to speak."

Zack looked up. "Destined? What happened?"

"Uh – " the merchant spluttered for a second, until his mind flashed in a marvelous bout of genius.

"Well, you see.. this Cetra fell in love with one of us humans. He was a fighter, an individual who wanted to search the eastern lands before anyone else had the urge to do something so dangerous. He was a fearless man, almost recklessly so." The man leaned over the countertop, drama flaring. "So he packed a few of his belongings, took his sword – for you see, he wasn't one for a gun – and set off into the mountains. There he fought wild beasts no one had ever seen, and ones we still don't know of, until he made his way into the Promised Land, a gorgeous place, beautiful, a place unimaginable in our own simple minds. This warrior had no words for it, no stories have been told about his description of it, you see. But there, ah, there, he met her, one of the goddesses of the city. She was called – er – she was called…" he paused, frantically searching, but Zack took no heed. He was entranced in the most complete way.

"If…al – na," he breathed, deciding on aimless syllables. "Her name was _Ifalna_. And you know how those stories go – they fell in love, in a particularly forbidden way. It was all very tragic, the other Cetras never permitting him to court her, because of what we had done to their land. How we had polluted something so unblemished and unstained, you understand. There was no hate between the Cetras, no animosity. But he arrived, and soon, Pandora's Box was unleashed, if you will. Ifalna didn't care, much like the warrior didn't care, and his legacy ended there," the merchant wiped his brow. "The Cetras finally gave a riot, and the warrior had no chance. He was sentenced."

"He was _executed_?" Zack dropped his hands on the counter in disbelief.

"I'm afraid it was so," the merchant gave a saddened bow of his head.

"Well…what happened to Ifalna?" Zack had the ribbon tight in his grasp, eyes widened.

"She…" he hesitated. "She had his baby. A…little girl. A half-Cetra. It is a known story that she was left on the doorstep of a sterile human woman, as Ifalna loved her so much, she couldn't bear the girl to live in such a hateful community. She knew they would never love her as they all loved each other."

Zack stared at the ribbon for a while, rubbing it with his thumb. "So that was how she was destined, right? To love a man she wasn't supposed to, to have a kid she would never see."

The merchant nodded. "I suppose."

"It's…" Zack strung the ribbon out, watching the blushing pink curl around his hand. "It's ironic, isn't it? For her to live in a world that is just as full of hatred as the Promised Land, even though that was the last thing Ifalna wanted."

"I…uh, yes, yes, very right," the merchant eyed the ribbon in his hand. "So uh…would you care to buy such an extravagant piece of thread?"

Zack never had anything to consider. He was going to buy it, with or without the story. But the story was an added bonus, and there was no inkling of doubt that it was a lie. The magic of it surged into his arms every other second and his heart raced and raced – he could barely catch his breath.

His hand unfolded his wallet. "How much are you willing – "

"ZACK!"

A voice stopped him, a chill whipping through is clothing.

He spun around, muscles tensed. "…Luxiere? What are you doing here – what's wrong?"

The look in the man's eye was frightened, chest expanding from the abrupt stop of his sprint.

"Hurry, Zack, I don't have time to explain. You've just gotta come, quick." Luxiere's face was sunken. "Just follow me, we gotta _go_."

Zack hadn't needed the encouragement. Luxiere's voice was all it took. They started off down the dusty road, running and pushing people out of the way.

The merchant's screams of theft could not break through the atmosphere; all eyes were on the buster sword attached to Zack's back, and not one soul had the urge to stop him.

* * *

Aerith's magic could stop a number of things – men's eyes, his heart, the world's tilt. But it could not stop a bullet. It could not stop the blood trickles or the corruption.

Cissnei stood there, her gun hot and heavy against the drizzle of the clouds. The clash of cold made it smoke in guilt, the strands dying and thinning in dissipation.

The sword was a streak of silver and red. It was a color splash against the dull browns of the village and the black pillars of government, and even more so against the fabric of a mercenary suit.

Zack ran as Sephiroth's hilt plundered, Cissnei's heart punctured, Aerith fell. It made him fear.

_Cissnei Aerith Sephiroth _were slow motion circles – round and round and round. His tongue was twisted in the_ confusion amazement shock. _There were no words, so he stood in the middle, unmoving, watching.

Cissnei's teeth were lined with copper and auburn, blood bubbles popping as she opened her mouth. Her brown eyes beseeched, trying to tell him the story he missed, trying to say I'm dying I'm dying but I love you I love you and you _knew_.

Sephiroth stood where he was, turning the sword like clockwork. Tick-tock-crunch-tick-tock-tick-tock. There was no remorse in the lines of his face, a killer killing a killer. He slid the hilt out in two heartbeats, but the time had slowed into two minutes. His head came up, the silver strands whipping and his eyes saddened. He looked up above, a glow encompassing his face.

Aerith was floating inches to feet to yards over the ground, shielded in a summer green. It took over the bleak landscape, drowning the reds and browns, her pinks and chalky hearts. She was horizontal, her hands were splayed and reaching, but Zack didn't think he had anything – there was nothing he could –

The ribbon caressed him a goodbye, weaving through his arm and up to his limp fingers in a tedious gesture. Down, up, down, up, and it was gone, floating on the chilly wind, inches and feet and yards.

It flew through the shielding green like it belonged, spinning around her body in a twirl, a snake nesting its way into her hair.

"Za –ac – ck." Luxiere turned to look behind him, finding Zack standing still. "We ne –e –ed to ke –ep go – ing." His voice was underwater, losing and finishing its way. Zack ignored him – he wouldn't leave, he couldn't.

_Hurry._

_But I can't._

His ears had the burn-bleed sensation. Was it a grenade, a bomb? He couldn't tell, but there was a high-pitched silence, and all he could hear was the movement around him, the yellows and oranges and bloodstains.

His heart was thudding and he was sweating droplets .

There was Cissnei, rivulets dripping and auburn hair dull, a smashed bug against the asphalt – and there was Aerith, all pink and green and lively. There was a crimson splat on the grass underneath her, and it was running into a massive puddle – but she had magic, didn't she?

And all of a sudden, he just knew. The ribbon, her and Elmyra, her hands, her aura, the story, everything. One of a kind. She was _her_.

Sephiroth came into his vision, into the green radius. His hands were reaching up to her, coaxing and relaxing, and Zack never put it past him about being a great man. He was putting his arms under her gently, helping her float back to reality. The stream of blood was becoming slower, and Zack reigned in his thoughts of knights and flowers, slain dragons and dreams. And Zack didn't know if he, himself, was _him_.

But he was running, running toward Cissnei's form, and he knew he made the right decision.

"I'm so sorry," he took her shoulders into his arms. "I'm so sorry, Cissnei. I didn't write back, I didn't, but I was trying and it wasn't right – "

He stopped at her small cough. She was gazing at him with a passionate ardor, something strong but fading, and he felt a heaviness behind his eyes. "I – understand, Zack."

She was too weak to move her arms, too leaden to do anything except lie still. She was seeping.

"No, Cissnei, you gotta fight it, you've gotta – " he stilted, and his fingers shook on her sleeves.

She blinked slowly. "I love you."

During his time away, he forgot the little things.

"Cissnei – "

Those memories they had – brief and minute now. Glimpses of fence hopping and vandalizing for the greater good.

"You are my _best friend_."

Their missions of spying and wandering into monsters.

There was a tilt of a smile on her face. "Zack." Her color was fading.

The funerals, the grief. The laughter.

"And don't you ever think for a second that you don't mean the world to me." His voice was cracking all over the place, his cheeks burning.

The days before he left.

She let her eyelids droop and mumbled, "Sorry."

The days before she killed.

Cissnei said nothing else.

"No, no Cissnei, don't – "

Zack never even saw it, but he realized that perhaps she had loved him a long, long time.

And he wished…he wished…and he wished some more.

But the paper cuts on his fingertips stung with her blood.

* * *

During war, you don't think about the future. You don't think about the five other bullets that will undoubtedly come after the first.

Zack didn't think this was war. The brink of it, maybe, but not full-fledged, blow his and her and their brains out _war_.

There had been a plethora of people outside – and inside – the Shinra building as its debris fluttered and blew around the town. The destruction was massive and the foundation had been blown to hell. When it toppled, there were people seen jumping out of shattered windows and rusty doors, landing no better than if they had been caught under the onslaught of the building itself.

He prayed that Luxiere had gotten out okay. Kunsel, too. He hoped everyone had. There had been too much blood today.

He found a small circle around Aerith's body. They were – diverse, ramshackle and torn, but they held themselves high. Zack was surprised when he was able to recognize some, from Aerith's stories not a week ago. There was a girl with long, dark hair, worrying a wart into her lips; a boy with spiked, on-end hair that, under different circumstances, would have made even Zack jealous. A giant feline was standing on his haunches, a dark skinned man with scrunched, wet eyes. To the left was a man with a crudely made spear and distracting goggles across his forehead, and a small girl holding some strange stuffed animal, kneeling by his feet, eyes wide and hopeful. A mysterious shadow was circling behind, forming a loom in the background – yet it was surprisingly not prognostic or foreboding.

And in the middle of it all was Sephiroth, a blaze sowing from his palms. It mixed with the bright light coming from Aerith, and it was white and black all at once.

Zack was yet again in suspension, holding his breath and ignoring the screams and coughs of the world outside, the smoking dust rising from scuffs and bodies. There was nothing else he wanted to do but go to her, except she wasn't moving.

And if she didn't move and if he was right there, he would have nothing else to give. He had already given it all.

But her eyes opened.

Her eyes opened, and Zack ran.

* * *

It came to be that the stuffed animal was not, exactly, _just_ a stuffed animal.

It started talking when Sephiroth and Zack placed Aerith's sleeping body in her bedroom, Elmyra scuttling about frantically with all the visitors and her daughter's state.

"Zack Fair?" it said. "Sephiroth." It moved his head up and down in a nod.

"Reeve," Sephiroth said back, in that monotone of his.

If under different circumstances, Zack would have been spluttering. But now, right now, nothing seemed to be surprising anymore. "Who are you supposed to be?"

The arms on the giant waved about, jumping up onto the bed in a grand gesture. "Let me explain, let me explain."

And so he did.

"It is something of a long story."

And it was. But it was simple, like those raindrops on the window.

"Reeve," the cat said. "That's my name. Or, who's talking through Cait." Whether the cat stretched because of Reeve's control or of it's own accord, Zack wasn't sure.

He was part of the government, the head of the WRO department - the construction committee of Shinra. But he was also well-respected with many of the masterminds, just as any politician should be. Zack had heard of him, a few times, in those covert ops missions in finding hideouts and gatherings.

"I got sick of it soon. So many secrets behind smiles. I knew what was going on, and I changed my mind."

So he used his power, and tried to change others.

As it happened, King Lazard and Rufus Shinra were going behind Shinra senior's back, hoarding in shipments of raw mako into the country.

"And that's how the rebels got it. I told them. I knew they were a powerful bunch."

The higher ups were addicted to the money and the feeling. Concentrated mako in the bloodstream - beautiful body, a beautiful mind. But Zack and Sephiroth knew this. They were soldiers. They were humans stretched thin.

Sephiroth kept indifference. Zack was turning pale.

"So the Turks..." Zack said.

Cait and Reeve were grim. "King Lazard sent them for protection. He thought it through. There would be unrest here - everywhere. He was well aware the truth had it's own way of emerging through time.

"So they took up their duties here, mostly as bodyguards, from AVALANCHE and smaller, less known groups. But I was on the rebel's side. Only nobody knew except myself. I couldn't tell anybody, not until it was well under way. And I was able to gain backup in my pursuits. Turned out I wasn't a single-minded politician revolutionary after all. I didn't think I was.. but it's hard to tell these things. Nothing is ever completely hidden in that building, but nothing is ever completely shown either, so I should have been better prepared, I know but - there was a tip off. And before they went through with the bombing, the Turks were able to locate their base. Or, more in this case, where their group was.

"And that was how Aerith was shot," Reeve said, Cait seeming worse for wear. "She was trying to protect everyone, but her magic was alarming, and the Turks reacted the only way they knew how. Except by that time, the mako had been set and the detonation went off. The rest of the Turks retreated to find Rufus."

Cait glanced to Zack. "The...ones who were uninjured."

And so the story was over. Silence ate the air.

Zack squeezed Aerith's limp hand. Sephiroth's eyes cut through the window. His poise was straight, his back rigid underneath black and silver.

Something ripped Zack's skin then, and he understood.

"You _knew_."

Sephiroth unclasped his hands behind his back, but he didn't turn.

"Yes."

"You were _using_ her."

He paused a while. "You may not believe me, but no. I was not."

Zack didn't really believe in anything anymore. So what did it matter? He was still angry. He was still on the verge of desperation, of sending Sephiroth flying through the window, into the rain and the destruction. He had been blinded by worry and grief before, ignoring what was right in front of him. Everything was stricken bare, now, and constricting and clutching Aerith's hand was the only thing to keep him from falling. It was the only thing left.

"She trusted you like I trusted you."

Because if he hadn't left for so long, he could have saved everyone from all this. He could have saved Cissnei, and he could have stopped the bullet, and he could have done so many things differently.

"She trusted who she saw," Sephiroth rebuked. "She didn't trust what she didn't know."

It was no-one's fault but Zack's own, and Zack – Zack's teeth grit. "You fucking _bastard_. You lured her in without a word, didn't you?"

"Zack - "

"What happened to honor?" he cried. "What happened to being someone for all of us to look up to? Huh? What happened?" His voice broke for a second time that day, and he shut his eyes. He didn't want to come to terms, he didn't.

"... a promise, Zack," Sephiroth's breath condensed in semi-circles against the pane. "An answer to the only thing I've ever wanted." He spun away from the window, piercing Zack with eyes like daggers and cuts. "Tell me," he breathed. "Do you know where I've come from? My hometown? My family?"

Zack did not loosen his grip. "No."

He smiled, sadly wry. "Neither does anyone else." He lowered his head. "Except Lazard. Except Hojo. You know Hojo, don't you? They know. They took me from someone. They took me away to experiment, to make me into a bloodied robot and make me do what they wouldn't. But do you know what he promised me?"

The silence stretched and stretched.

"He promised me my mother."

There was something about his smile, his teeth.

"S-sephiroth?" Aerith's eyes were small openings. Zack came forward, but Sephiroth leaned in. Zack didn't let go of her hand, though he backed away.

"Aerith. Did you hear me?" He pleaded, he was so desperate. "Do you understand?"

And to answer it, Aerith smiled her one and only smile.

"Yes." She reached her hand out. "Of course I do." It cupped his cheek, and Sephiroth did not look like a monster. His eyes were not slits, his teeth were filed down. He seemed a good man.

In a reluctant bow of his head, Zack sought out the veined lines of the carpet. He noticed two oval, crumpled roadblocks widening into a stop, tiny blots obstructing a long, long pathway. It was strange, watching one become two, two become four, until the map was outlined with one path untouched.

And at the end of the day, Zack couldn't tell if the roadblocks were Sephiroth's tears or his own.

* * *

The ships had docked hours or days later - because it was hard to discern the pesky grandfather clock in Elmyra's entryway, with all the crowded goodbyes and the wishful, wistful take cares. Elmyra kissed each one, even the bulky, one-armed man and the gruff, nicotine enhanced spear wielder, though their faces spoke volumes of chagrin and blushes. She somehow got her hands on a red cape and pulled the pasty, looming shadow in; she readily caught the small girl with big grins, hopeful eyes, and the blond spikes of the boy with _lost_ written all over his face. He hadn't said much while they stayed, like the rest of the group, excluding the small girl, but all their colors had painted strokes against the wallpaper. Zack felt each one pass through his chest in small wet darts. They were able to welcome him, after the hysterics ended, but they kept their distance. The only one who had been absent was Reeve and Cait Sith, who had become busy with assembling the WRO, reconstruction, and recovery. It would be a long time in coming, but it seemed the community was all in agreement for anything other than what it had endured.

Aerith was standing amongst them, smiles brightening the hesitant mood. "We're not going anywhere. Don't worry, you'll be welcome anytime you'd like!"

Though that was far from the internal problems they reflected, it gave them something to hold onto. It was a dark, putrid place outside, and just like Aerith, it was getting better. Healing was a relative term, for now, but getting better was something happy enough.

They all trudged out in a filed line, united forever yet disbanded indefinitely, and it was one huge parting with no words in between. They looked like soldiers, changing lanes to reach their homes. Zack knew it would be hard, after all the things they had done together, but he also knew that they could. If there was one thing Zack learned through his experiences of the army life, it was to overcome. It would be the biggest lesson and the biggest test, and he, like them, was still taking it.

Zack didn't know what happened when you failed. He found he did not want to know.

A girl stopped walking, down her way on the sidewalk. She immediately turned and ran back inside the house, swallowing Aerith with her arms a bit more fully than she had before. He heard her whisper something, but Zack couldn't make it out, and he watched Aerith giggle at her, shaking her head. Then she let go and faced Zack with a small smile. She stayed looking at him a while, and right when Zack was going to pull out something extremely witty to say, she jumped up and hugged him too.

Zack stepped a foot back for balance, jolted out of himself a bit.

"I know you're leaving, but you need to keep taking care of her, okay?" she directed him, more in a hopeful command than a forceful promise. It was a hurried whisper, and it was placed just so he would be the only one to hear it.

He wrapped his arms around her in response, but she wiggled away before she could take in his answer.

She stepped away from them. "See you, Aerith." She paused. "Zack."

Walking down the sidewalk for a second time, she reached the boy waiting for her. Then she reached her palm forward. "Let's go, Cloud. Let's go home." She tied their fingers together, and Zack watched him smile, shyly joyed.

As they walked out of sight down the cobblestones, the door was left open. Neither Zack, Aerith, nor Elmyra went to close it.

"Come with me," Aerith spoke, as the wind chilled the hallway and stopped the clock. "I need to do something, and I want you to come with me."

Zack had a feeling he knew what was about to happen. He grinned through it, nonetheless.

"Anything for you."

* * *

He was standing before the rotted pillar of the church.

"Are you leaving?"

Zack waited a few feet away, after Aerith let go of his hand. He watched her walk up to him, feet light and betraying the slight tremble in her voice.

"Yes," he said, not turning. "I received my letter a few days ago. She is on the ship."

Zack heard her inhale. "Oh, Sephiroth." She ran toward his back and enveloped him from behind. "I knew she'd come, I knew she'd find you."

Sephiroth raised his arm, spinning so that her face occupied his chest, and he put his forearm across her. He said nothing. Zack crossed his arms and held back making a face. He couldn't help but feel twinges of regret, looking at the man. But he was coming to realize that forgiveness was something he didn't have trouble accepting.

"Tell me," Aerith fiddled with his buckle straps. "What's her name?"

He lowered his chin onto the halo of her head. "Lucrecia," he answered. "Beautiful, is it not?"

"Gorgeous," she laughed. "Gorgeous..." she waited after that, and her voice became small. "I hope she's everything you wanted her to be. I really do."

Sephiroth smiled above her, and Aerith stepped a toe back. She leaned forward and up, kissing his cheek. It was chaste and very brief, and Aerith scooted back more to look at him better. Zack sighed irritatedly.

"You're welcome here, anytime," she said, slow and punctual.

At this, Sephiroth stared at her awhile, then he roved his eyes and stared at Zack. Zack stared back.

"Remember that, okay?"

After a time, after a battle neither won nor lost on either side, Sephiroth broke away from Zack and encompassed Aerith on a whole. "I will," he said. It was a compromise, but it was also a promise. If he would act on it, only weeks, or months, or years ahead were in the know.

Yet, Aerith was satisfied, and perhaps that was all Sephiroth wanted.

She tipped her head to him in a grand, almost mocking gesture, "I'll see you around, Sephiroth." Zack's jealousy was smothered with his grin, as he saw she really _was_ teasing him. For Sephiroth tipped his head to her in much the same way, less sweeping and much more serious.

"Goodbye, Aerith." His smile became a solemn line, and as Aerith came back and grabbed Zack's hand, her stride was a bit quicker and her fingers more desperate.

She didn't look back the rest of the way.

* * *

They stood upon the pier, hand in hand.

"You need to eat the cobbler soon," she said, referring to the one strategically placed in his sack. Elmyra had kissed him on the cheek afterward, retreating quickly into the kitchen to fix supper for when Aerith got back. He teased her, calling after to not prepare something he would regret missing. She returned an answer, witty and light, but the creak in her syllables was the only thing he heard.

"Don't gotta tell me twice." He tilted his head down to her.

"Will you write to me?" she asked, staining imprints on his face with her big, big eyes. He wished he could feel the scratches of her fingers through his gloves.

"As soon as we reach land, I'm going to find the mail carrier," he reached behind her, clasping her arms in a criss-cross. "I can make the letters arrive twice as fast with this sword."

She smiled in return, but she didn't respond.

They remained watching each other, gazing and remembering, learning and relearning.

"How long?"

"'Til my contract ends. Nine months. Year, tops."

She leaned in, resting her ear on his chest, and rocking into his strong rhythm. Her palms rose into his hair, threading stitches and staples, her thoughts of him forever embedded in his own thoughts of her.

She hummed, "I'll be waiting."

He would be waiting, too.

And when they were broken up by the guard, Zack shuffling slowly, slowly onto the bow of the ship, he leaned against the railing. He never allowed his eyes to stray from hers.

She stayed on the dock until he floated over the curve of the sea, into the pollen center of the semi-circle sun.

She had never allowed her eyes to stray once, either.

* * *

He walked up the porch of the house, giving the up-down and around, flattering the crude wood with his appreciative glancing. The columns supporting were spun with vines, awnings cradling the windows on the left and right.

It had not changed in the slightest.

He set his bag down, roaming around the corner of the house, trotting over the white half-way fence that creaked with pleasure.

He followed in the old footsteps that had waited for him to plunder through once more. And that was when he saw her, sitting in a halo of yellow sunbursts. She was the queen in the center with pollen decorating her nose, her attire betraying his remembrance. It was a solid pink, no off-whites or spirals of sprinkled chalky hearts. She was older, wiser, like he was older and wiser. But they were still able to match, in that respect. They were still, altogether and together, the same.

So it wasn't a surprise, when she looked up, his heart was the engine, a race-to-the-finish. When he kissed her, she was not the apple spice he did not need. She was welcome back, welcome back, I missed you, God, I missed you, too.

Her hands were guardians, locking his eyes on the beginning of the path.

The ribbon in her hair was the promise fulfilled.

And the wafts from the windows? Those were home.

* * *

a/n; thank you for reading it, truly. i kind of love you, if you did. (:  
butchering constructive criticism that'll make me cry? i'll give you my whole heart, i will~


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